


Rebellion

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (again), First Time, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Rebel Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: The Winter Soldier experiences an unusual surge of emotions after having fled the scene of Nicholas Fury's assassination. (With NSFW art by me)





	Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [An_cat_dubh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_cat_dubh/gifts), [antigrav_vector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/gifts).



> Happy birthdays guys! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Beta by the wonderful and ever so glorious  
> [Nursedarry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry) <3

 

The soldier lands on the rooftop, deflecting the force (and noise) of the impact by rolling to his feet. There, he stops to listen, scanning the rooftop he just left with a wary squint. His pursuer appears to have given up the chase, and the Soldier straightens up with a condescending snort from underneath his mask.

It’s almost a shame. It’s been a good while since the Soldier had come across someone capable of keeping up with him. The fact that the man had actually tossed an enormous  _ frisbee  _ at him – and with impressive force and accuracy, as well – was more than enough to send a dull spark of, if not thrill, then at least curiosity down the Soldier’s spine.

How regrettable for such an intriguing adversary to have given up so soon.

The Soldier makes his way across the roof and onto the next building. Even with the immediate threat of being followed gone, there’s still a risk that he’ll be tracked later. He keeps his eyes peeled behind him as he criss-crosses his way from roof to roof, head bent low. The rifle that was supposed to have been strapped to his back is missing, since he’d been forced to discard that once spotted, and the lack of its weight feels like an uncomfortable itch at the back of his neck.

He had been _spotted._ _Followed_. He had _lost_ his _weapon._

His handlers are not going to be pleased. This was a stealth mission, and he had failed it, just like he had failed the blitz attack downtown a mere few hours earlier. 

The Soldier had already received disciplinary measures for that. Nothing major, since they needed him fully operable to correct his mistake, but he could still feel the ache it had left in his bones as he climbs up yet another fire escape to get as high up as he can. 

There is a tracking device attached to the inside of his metal arm, so he’s aware of the fact that his operators already know he botched this mission. Weaving between – or in this case,  _ across  _ – buildings is a telltale sign that the Soldier is trying to shake someone off his tail, and it causes a significant delay to his schedule. He’s not going to be able to reach the extraction point on time. 

Indeed, his handlers are not going to be pleased with him.

It’s all that man’s fault, he decides. That man with whom the Soldier’s target had sought refuge. If it hadn’t been for  _ him _ , the Soldier would have been able to redeem himself from his past failures, and would not have to suffer a second punishment before the night is over.

A sudden, violent urge to twist the railing of the fire escape between his left hand’s fingers until it breaks makes an appearance inside his head, and he stills halfway up, stunned by the unfamiliar sentiment. 

Feelings are a luxury reserved for other people. They are not something an asset like himself is supposed to entertain. A soldier is cold, efficient, calculated. Feelings only get in the way. 

A soldier does not  _ feel. _ So why is the idea of driving his fist straight through the brick wall in front of him still blaring like a foghorn inside his head?

With a grit of teeth behind his muzzle, the Soldier shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge the thought from his mind, before he resumes the climb, but it doesn’t help. It’s with reluctance that he’s forced to admit that he’s angry. Angry and…bitter. And scared, but that’s nothing new. 

Fear is the only emotion his handlers encourage. Not of any potential enemies, but of them, and they are right to be feared. The Soldier knows what they’ll do to him once he gets back, because it’s the same thing they always do. They’ll put him in that cold metal chair, strap an IV to his arm, and then they’ll shove a mouth guard between his teeth before switching the power on. And his lights will go out. 

The chair is the only thing constant; the only thing he remembers, apart from his brief (conscious) stays inside his cryo chamber, and he hates and fears it with as much ferocious passion that he dares to inhabit. There most likely was a time – and he knows this only because he’s seen it with others – when he too used to scream, cry, and beg for them not to put him in that thing. He doesn’t anymore. Not out loud, at least.  

Emotional displays are not permitted. 

Not even in the chair.

Reaching the top of the staircase, the Soldier swings his leg over the ledge and comes to a stand. This roof, much like the others, consists of air vents, a moderately sized water tank, a few skylights, and a whole lot of filth. He’s ventured into an old part of the city, and the houses here are obviously not as well maintained as in the area he just left. There are chimneys sticking up every here and there across the skyline – old, bricked, withered things. 

The Soldier doesn’t know why, but for some reason, the sight of them is…oddly comforting. And at the same time annoying in ways he can’t even begin to explain. They prod at something in the back of his head, taunting him, and he determinedly turns his back towards them to walk away. 

He finds that he can’t. 

Something hot and blazing has taken hold inside his chest, and he slowly curls his hands into hard fists by his sides to the point where they’re visibly shaking with the tension.

Why should he be in such a hurry to get back? He knows what’s going to happen to him the moment his handlers collect him. He has to go back, of course, to even consider the option is absolutely ludicrous, but why should he hasten towards it?

The thought is exciting in its defiance, and slowly the Soldier turns back to look at the chimneys over his shoulder. He picks one out that’s niched in between an air vent and the corner of the building, providing an alcove, free from sight. That’s where he settles down, on the ground with his back toward the bricks behind him.

For being such a big city, the night is quiet. There are cars honking, music playing, dogs barking. Not constantly, but every now and then the noises still manage to make their way up to where he sits, high above the streets below. None of them holds any significance. They don’t concern him, and so he sifts them out, focusing on detecting the kind of noises that might mean he’s about to be compromised. Footsteps, the creak of a door, breathing.

None of those sounds come, however.    

The air is still, but the soft breeze coming from the roof vent is warm as it ghosts against his leather-clad body. It’s a comfortable spot, and the Soldier allows himself a moment to close his eyes as he takes a deep breath through the mask covering his face. He’s still angry, but the anger has taken a back seat from the momentary and perhaps reckless satisfaction of not following his orders to the letter. The rebellion takes the brunt of his rage, but he has no clue how to deal with the aggravation left behind. It’s like an itch underneath his skin, and he shifts, discarding the most efficient position for the sake of a more comfortable one.

The agitation keeps him from falling asleep, but he doesn’t really want to, either. Instead, he just sits there; silent and immobile in the dark, and waits for time to pass. He doesn’t even care about the fact that he’s getting himself into trouble for nothing other than the sheer purpose of doing so. Still, being there, alone in a darkness that hasn’t been caused by cryo-sleep, and that isn’t accompanied by earth-shattering pain, is sort of...nice.

The Soldier supposes that’s a word that sufficiently describes the situation he’s currently in. Nice. Pleasant, even. With the warmth from the vent, it doesn’t take long before his body loses some of its tension as the Soldier slowly allows himself to slump further back against the bricked wall with his head tipped back, closed eyes directed at the star-strewn sky above.  

He’s coming up on his eighth minute when he notices the tightness inside his pants. 

Slowly, he opens his eyes to glance down his front, and indeed, right there in the direct line of his sight, is a visible bulge pressing up against the seam of his zipper.      

The Soldier is not unfamiliar with erections. He knows what they are, and what they’re for. He also knows that it’s a phenomenon his handlers strongly encourages their subjects to ignore. Often with the generous use of stun guns and other...creative ways to enforce their discipline. More often, the stuff they give the Soldier through the IV’s is more than enough to keep his body docile to the point where he doesn’t even have to think about it himself. But then there are times, such as this, when he’s been left without maintenance for longer than usual, and his body begins to stir. 

The Soldier shifts his hips a little, grunting in discomfort when the hardness of his genitals rubs against the inside of his clothes. He tilts his hips another way, at the same time as he reaches down to try and adjust himself through his pants. It works, somewhat, but as he removes his hand, he finds that it was actually more preferable to keep it where it was. So he puts it back. Then he rocks his hips a little again, sighing as his grip immediately tightens around him before he can stop it. 

That too feels nice.      

In fact, it feels  _ more  _ than nice. 

The Soldier swallows, and slowly begins to squeeze and massage over the bulge pushing against his palm. He closes his eyes for a second time, breathing steady, but it only takes another few slow squeezes of his hand before the air eventually stutters on its way down his throat. The ache in his body seems to have gathered and relocated itself to his crotch, where it throbs along with his quickening pulse. He knows how to relieve it, of course, he’s not stupid, but the thought of what might happen if he does stirs a cautionary fear inside his heart. The memory of electric shocks and other, far worse methods of physical and mental abuse rises from within the dark hollows of his mind, nearly making him feel sick. 

He’s not allowed to do what he’s contemplating on doing. It’s not permitted. Perhaps that’s the exact reason why the Soldier slowly moves his hand away, only to reach up and unclasp the buckle of his utility belt. He unhooks it from the strap to the thigh holster on his left, allowing it to drop, before unzipping his pants with a low grunt of relief.

He folds the edges of the cargo pants open and pushes them down. He’s been provided underwear, and when he eases the elastic down, his erection immediately springs free to slap up against his stomach. The air, which had felt warm up until that point, rushes in cool against his skin, making the Soldier hiss under his breath. He wraps a hand around himself, more on instinct than anything else, and lets the air out in a shudder as his calloused right palm rubs over the shaft.

Experimentally, he strokes his hand up and down. The touch sends another shiver through his limbs that has him gritting his teeth to keep the noise threatening to rise in the back of his throat at bay. Because it’s good. It’s so,  _ so  _ good… 

They’ll punish him for it, no doubt, but he doesn’t care. This feeling, whatever it is... It’s just too good of an indulgence to pass up. Besides, he’s already done enough today to guarantee himself punishment beyond ordinary disciplinary methods. Might as well make the best of it while he can.

He settles back against the wall and takes a firmer hold around himself. It’s a strange sensation, touching his body in such a place. He can’t recall having done that before. Then again, there are a lot of things he can’t recall about himself…

Deciding to just go with it, he repeats the stroking motion once again, starting slow, and this time he doesn’t settle for doing it just once. Moving his hand up, he strokes over the glans, a bit too hard the first time, then feather-light, tightening his grip on the way down. He finds that he likes it. 

Experimentally, he lets up on the grip even further, until he’s just barely grazing his own skin, and the touch makes him shiver in spite of himself. Using only the pads of his fingers, he rubs at the head of his dick in slow, massaging circles before smoothing them down the bottom of his shaft. The touch tickles, in a surprisingly good way, and he does it again. He follows the outline of the ridge, over and over, and every time his fingers pass over the frenulum, his cock twitches up, as if it’s trying to chase after the sensation on its own. 

In a spurr of curiosity, the Soldier reaches up and mimics the process with his left hand, and the cool touch of metal makes him gasp when it connects with his skin. It’s not unpleasant, just different, which makes him do it again. He traces the length of himself all the way down to where he disappears into his pants, where he worms the hand underneath the layers of fabric to cup around the warmth of his testicles. A noise escapes him as he does – a low, muffled thing – and he tenses up. 

Conditioned memories inside his head informs him that noises aren’t allowed either, and his muscles immediately bunch up into knots to brace for the impact of a baton, or the blunt end of a gun. Nothing happens, of course, and the Soldier lets out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding when his body unclenches from around his lungs. 

He licks his lips. Then he carefully rolls his balls in the palm of his hand, and this time, the sound rolls unhindered off his tongue to shake past his lips. He resumes the movement of his human hand, and after a few strokes, he brings the metal one up to grab around the base of his cock in a double grip. The constriction is unlike any other touch the Soldier can remember, and he keeps the grasp firm while he continues to rub over the head, stroking harder.

His lower lip trembles slightly as he gulps down a mouthful of the cool night air, and he promptly clamps down on it with his teeth, biting it while breathing hard through his nose. His abs clench when a particularly teasing rub of his fingers sends a wave of heat rolling through his gut, flushing his cheeks, making him sweat. It urges him on, and the convulsion of his muscles gradually spreads, multiplying throughout his limbs until his entire body is jerking with every other breath he takes.

Grabbing for his pants with his left hand to keep them pushed down, he rolls his hips to rock up into the fist of the other. The pleasure it causes makes his eyelids flutter closed as his head drops back against the wall with a thud, but he quickly forces his eyes back open. He has to watch. He wants to  _ see. _

[ _ _ ](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/159977311814/theyll-punish-him-for-it-no-doubt-but-he)

There’s liquid beading at the slit of his cock now, a clear, pearly white that shimmers in the moonlight. The Soldier interrupts the stroking to smear his thumb through it, spreading it over the tip until it forms a sheen on top of his skin. Then, without really knowing why, he lets go of himself in order to unfasten the lower strap of the mask covering his face. TIlting it up a little he manages to wiggle his thumb underneath the edge of it to rub the slick over his lower lip, tasting it with a searching flick of his tongue. The taste is bitter and salty, and for reasons he doesn’t understand or even care about, the flavor has his cock pulsing and twitching hard in his lap.

Quickly, he brings the hand back down to grab around himself at the same time as he tightens the grip around the fabric of his pants, clutching it hard. His eyelids flutter when he picks up the pace, stroking hard and fast. He’s shaking again, unsure if he had ever stopped, but there’s an urgency to this now that hadn’t been there before. It causes his shoulders to pull up, as if bracing for impact, and brings his pulse into a ring inside his ears like bells, like thunder. He’s got his back up against the wall so hard, he fears he might actually end up going through it, and there’s something live and feral clawing against the inside of his stomach, making it churn and twist in blissed-out agony. 

The heel of his boot suddenly comes up to kick against the air vent in front of him in a half-spastic motion that he has no control of whatsoever. The impact rattles the grid with a loud bang, but the Soldier doesn’t care. His eyes are fixed on his cock where his hand is blurring with how fast it moves – or if it’s his vision that’s blurry, he doesn’t even know anymore – and he braces himself between the wall and the vent, using the leverage to shove his hips up into the warm tunnel of his hand. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. His control is gone, all of his military restraint and willpower completely lost to the gratifying sensation of his own touch. He has absolutely no idea if he’s doing this thing right, only that he needs it faster, needs it  _ harder. _

His breath is catching in his throat, quaking down his lungs in the same way his voice keeps trembling when noises he had no idea he was capable of producing come tripping past his lips. He moans, unrestricted other than by his muzzle, and the sound crashes through him like a bolt of lightning. His head spins, his cock goes rigid, balls pulling up against his body hard. 

He comes. 

Silently, choking on air, he spills onto the bared skin of his stomach, up over the leather straps of his jacket in short, violent spurts. His entire body rocks with the throbbing of his cock as he manages a single, breathless groan when the first splash hits, and as his eyelids begin to drop, he lets them. 

The dark behind his lids is soft, like the grip around his dick is turning soft as it comes to a halt, rubbing lazily over his skin until the touch becomes too much. It takes him almost a full minute to get his breathing to even out, and the effort is lined with tiny whines and whimpers that the Soldier, at any other time, would have despised himself for making. Right now he doesn't care. In fact, right now he’s fairly certain he doesn’t care about anything at all.

His hand is sticky when he lets himself go, and using his other hand this time, he tips the edge of his muzzle up to lick at the mess coating his fingers. It doesn’t taste as exciting this time, which causes a low thump of actual disappointment to punch through his chest. 

He lets the hand and mask drop, looking down at the wet splotches of come that’s covering his upper body. Before, it was warm, like blazing hot, but it’s already begun to cool, which makes it feel strangely repulsive. Seeing as his human hand is already soiled, the Soldier uses it to scoop the worst stains off his skin. It’s not perfect, but more than sufficient for him to tuck himself back into his underwear and zip up his pants. He gives the jacket a weak once-over, a barely-there attempt at cleaning it off, but gives up after only a few swipes. The gap between the straps makes it difficult to get to it all, and some distant part of him wants to leave evidence behind for his handlers to find later. A final provocation, as it may be.

He buckles the utility belt again, before slowly rising to his feet. His legs feel wobbly beneath his weight, and he lets out a muttered curse in Russian when the first step nearly makes him stumble. 

The Soldier gives the rooftop a final glance over his shoulder before he resolutely sets course for another building, heading for the city center. And his awaiting punishment.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, people. This is my first Winter Soldier-centered fic, so please let me know what you thought of his characterization. All feedback is welcomed!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I can, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


End file.
